A search for peace

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Ursula Heath spent 20 years as a Hare Krishna devotee. Now studying at university, she’s trying to live a ‘normal’ life. Ursula shares her incredible story...

I ran away from home at 16 when my family was living in England. At 25, I ran away again after a relationship went terribly wrong. By this time I had a four-year-old son, David. My best friend had been to India and met the Hare Krishnas there; she told me about a community in the French countryside where my little boy and I could live safely. So, we found ourselves at a chateau that looked like something straight out of a fairytale. There, I was taught how to wear a sari and apply the tilak – a forehead marking made with sacred clay. I was given the job of caring for the community’s toddlers, and David and I were given a room in a wing full of women (men lived in separate quarters).

This was 1985 and the beginning of almost 20 years of living and working in the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, popularly known as the Hare Krishna movement. There was plenty to get used to in this new life: no tea, coffee, TV,  books or magazines. Make-up and perfume were forbidden, and women were told to keep their hair tied back and covered at all times. We were not to run or laugh out loud, and idle chatter was discouraged. Communication with the opposite sex was forbidden unless absolutely necessary – even eye contact was prohibited. As I was committed to a spiritual life, I did my best to obey. After a turbulent childhood and a difficult relationship I was happy with the restrictions; I felt I had found my safety net.

In the sect, most marriages were arranged. A guru decided whether a couple was compatible and his decision was final. If a man and a woman became attracted to each other, they could apply for permission to meet and talk. Unmarried celibate men wore saffron robes, while married men (and those who wanted to get married) wore white. There was a certain stigma in this; celibates were considered more spiritually advanced and this often caused turmoil among the men. Married couples didn’t live together – the men lived in an ashram and met their wives for a few hours during the day.

David and I were content in this cosseted community and gradually I began to feel I belonged. I was happy to live chastely and gave myself over, in effect, to the life of a nun. I found the daily temple services enchanting, the meditation sessions mesmerising. Each day we would get up before dawn, shower and dress, then go to morning service in the chateau’s former ballroom, which was hung with baroque chandeliers. Gilt-framed paintings of the god Krishna hung on the walls, velvet curtains adorned the lead-light windows and clouds of incense billowed from an opulent altar. 

Two things were especially enchanting. The food – vegetarian but exotic – and the dancing. Each morning and evening there was devotional music in the temple room. The women would stand behind the men while they played drums and sang. It would start off slowly and quietly, then build to a crescendo. For me, it was extremely uplifting; an expression of joy and my devotion to Krishna. In this idyllic setting, life seemed positive and meaningful, but I didn’t realise how quickly I was losing touch with the world. My letters home to my family – now in Australia – must have seemed fanatical. The Hare Krishnas taught that family was an ‘attachment’ to the material world of illusion; this must have stung my family to the core.

When one of the American Hare Krishna gurus came to visit, we decorated the chateau with flags and strings of flowers. Elephants were hired from a nearby circus and stalls were set up so the townspeople could buy incense, Indian jewellery and spicy fried snacks. In the evening there was tumultuous singing, dancing and leaping about with drums and cymbals, followed by fireworks.

When the leaders decided I was ready, I was initiated into the sect. Dressed in a new sari, I sat before a fire of purification with a guru sitting opposite and devotees all around singing quietly. A priest chanted  Sanskrit prayers and made offerings of clarified butter, essential oils, incense, fruit and sandalwood paste to the flames. All my karma (the results of my past actions) would be consumed by the fire and I would then be reborn. I vowed never to eat meat, fish or eggs; never to gamble, use recreational drugs, alcohol, tea or coffee; and never to have sex outside marriage – and then only once a month if children were desired. The guru handed me a rosary of wooden beads and I made a pledge to recite the Hindu mantra of Krishna on them every day. Finally, I was given a new name, Vaisnavi-devi dasi (meaning maidservant of God).

The guru who performed my initiation was one of several who flew around the world first class and tended to live in luxury, while their followers maintained a simple, austere existence. We were told the gurus were our go-betweens with God, and most of us were too timid, or perhaps too grateful for the lifestyle, to speak out if we had doubts. Nevertheless, there were dark undercurrents and it was only years later that I discovered one guru had been charged with murder, another with child abuse and one with hoarding arms. Others gave up their vows of celibacy, pocketed a share of the money and walked out.

A few months later I was sent to Paris to serve the sect. I was appalled that I had to leave David in the Hare Krishna boarding school, but thankfully he was okay. I was given the job of begging for alms. On the streets we’d give colourful stickers to passersby and say we were collecting for charity, which wasn’t strictly true, so we often had to dodge the police. In the evening we’d count our takings and hand it all over to our leaders.

In the late ‘80s I returned to England with David and continued as a sect member. The Hare Krishna headquarters there was a rambling mock-Tudor manor that was gifted to devotees in the 1970s by Beatle George Harrison. David soon made friends with Siddha, who was in charge of maintenance, and brought us together as a couple. I was drawn to Siddha’s sincerity and was pleased to have found a wonderful father for my son. We had a lavish Hindu-style wedding at the temple.

For three years I taught in a Hare Krishna school, despite having no training.  Five years after joining the sect, I was promoted to the role of priestess. I learned countless Sanskrit mantras by heart and was trained to perform elaborate religious rituals. By now I was being given a small allowance for my priestess services but when I wanted to travel, I trudged around selling incense door-to-door to save.

Everything changed when David, Siddha and I went to India in 1992. I discovered the roots of the Hare Krishna movement and began to see it for what it really was – a young branch of the ancient tradition of Hinduism. For eight years I lived in an ashram in Vrindavan, a sacred city near the birthplace of Krishna. It was a place of pilgrimage for holy men and women. I stayed in a crumbling 400-year-old temple with a rough stone floor and monkeys at the door.

I travelled to a monastery in Bengal to meet the 102-year-old ascetic master, Srila Bhakti Promode Puri. He was amazingly kind and spoke to me in lovely old-fashioned English. After he passed on, I began to attend the lectures of another elderly spiritual teacher, Srila Bhaktivedanta Narayana. The ancient teachings of these masters struck a chord in my heart. By practising Bhakti yoga (the yoga of devotion), I found a far deeper sense of inner peace and fulfilment than I’d ever experienced before.

When I found out my father had cancer in 2003, I moved to Australia to be near him, leaving David in England with Siddha. After sitting at the feet of learned sages and holy men in India, I came home to learn a powerful lesson from my own dad. I’d hardly seen him in two decades, but during his last days he told me about his appreciation of Buddhism and asked me about God and where I thought he’d be going. I realised that each of us is passing through this world, and that what we learn from it and give back is unique and sacrosanct. I could no longer obey the orders of the Hare Krishna sect – I now felt my spirituality was intimately personal and internal, not something to put on show.

I’ve come to believe that it’s better to live with your spirituality within mainstream society. But finding my place in society hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to learn to think for myself, even relearn the art of conversation. And with no qualifications or work experience, getting a job was tough. I enrolled at TAFE where I learned computing, maths and communication skills. I’m now at university studying English and linguistics, and plan to teach English as a foreign language. University is teaching me to think for myself. I’ve made friends from many different religions and life is much richer for it. And, yes, I still keep the vows I took all those years ago, including celibacy, although I do enjoy the occasional cappuccino. I’ve found a new sense of balance and contentment by living a full life in the world, rather than trying to cut myself off from it. Siddha still lives at the temple in England and, although we reside apart, we’ll always be best friends. As for my son, he’s now 26 and working in IT in London. I’m so proud of him and I feel blessed to be living this extraordinary life.

Words: Josephine Brouard. Photography: Emma Brasier. Hair & make-up: Cherie Spisso.